


One Foot in Front of the Other

by Flynne



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:56:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynne/pseuds/Flynne
Summary: Solas leaves him in silence.Silence, except for the rush of blood in his ears and the last faint sparking from his withering hand. He doesn't think he can stand, but his companions haven't followed him - Dorian hasn't followed him - and he has to go back.
Relationships: Male Adaar/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	One Foot in Front of the Other

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fictober 2019. Prompt: "I won't lose you."

Solas leaves him in silence.

Silence, except for the rush of blood in his ears and the last faint sparking from his withering hand. Aster kneels shaking on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He is utterly empty, mana dwindled to a guttering candleflame, and body aching from battle. He doesn’t think he can stand, but his companions haven’t followed him - Dorian hasn’t followed him - and he has to go back. 

He plants his staff on the ground and struggles to his feet, heading unsteadily back the way he had come. If not for the stone Qunari that Solas left scattered in his wake, he would have to crawl. The sight of them fills him with dread, but he makes his meandering way back between them, holding on to their outstretched arms and solid shoulders until he reaches the distant eluvian. 

Aster is half afraid that the eluvian will refuse to let him through, but when his hand touches the glass it ripples like water and he stumbles through. Before he’s even completely emerged, he collides with something and nearly falls backward. 

“Amatus!” Dorian rocks back from the blow but recovers quickly, reaching out to seize him by the arm.

Aster’s knees buckle. Blackwall bounds up the stairs to help Dorian catch him, reaching his side just in time to keep him from tumbling down the crumbling stone steps.

“What happened?” Dorian drops to his knees in front of him, precarious at the top of the stairs, hands braced steadyingly on his shoulders. "I tried to go after you, but it wouldn't let me through."

“He’s gone,” Aster gasps out. “I couldn’t stop him.” 

“Are you all right?”

“Look at his hand,” Blackwall said grimly.

Dorian glances down, breath hitching as he catches sight of his blackened, flaking palm. “_Venhedis_.”

“Shit. Shitshit_shit_!” Sera’s eyes widen, knuckles blanching around her bow. “It’s falling apart!”

“_Thank _you, Sera, we hadn’t noticed,” Dorian snaps.

Blackwall shifts uneasily but doesn’t move away. “Careful. We don’t know if it’s still unstable.” His hand tightens on Aster’s shoulder. “Can you control it?”

“It’s gone.” Aster tries to flex his fingers but stops with a shudder as he feels his flesh cracking. “He took it out of me.”

“‘Took it out’,” Dorian repeats, bewildered. “Who did? _Solas _did? What do you mean he took it out?”

“The anchor. Took it out, or - or turned it off, or…it’s gone.” Aster tries not to lean too heavily on him, but it’s getting harder to stay upright. “He said…for whatever time I have left…” - Dorian makes a choked noise in the back of his throat - “…he wanted me to have peace.”

“What does that mean?” Dorian can’t keep his voice from shaking. “Time you have…what?”

Aster realizes he’s not being clear. “No, it’s…I’m all right, Dorian.”

Dorian’s grip on his shoulders doesn’t loosen. “You’re doing a poor job of convincing me.”

“So the anchor’s gone?” Blackwall interrupts. “It’s not a danger?” He waits for Aster to nod. “Right. What about the Qunari?” 

“Dead.” He’s so tired. The urgency and adrenaline and battle fury that carried him through the Darvaarad has utterly deserted him. He blinks heavily but his eyelids stay closed, barely hearing Dorian irritably asking Blackwall if now is _really _the time for an interrogation. 

“Amatus? Aster!” 

He opens his eyes when Dorian shakes him, blinking in the bright sunlight. “Sorry. I’m here.”

Dorian’s brow is furrowed, face pinched with worry, but he does an admirable job of keeping his voice calm. “We need to go. Come on, let’s get you up.”

Dorian is right, but he can’t stop shaking, and although the excruciating pain of the anchor is gone, the nerves throughout his entire body feel scorched and there’s a dull throb radiating up from the hollow of his hand that leaves him feeling nauseated and weak. “I don’t think I can,” he says faintly.

“You have to get up.” Dorian shifts his grip from Aster’s shoulders to the sides of his face, lifting his head to meet his gaze. “None of us can carry you, you _have to walk_.” His face fractures at the hollow look in Aster’s eyes, and he leans in to press their brows together, voice quiet and desperate, for Aster’s ears alone. “Get up. _Please_, Aster - I won’t lose you, not now, please get up - ”

“All right.” He inhales unsteadily. “Help me.” Dorian shifts to press against his side, bracing his shoulder beneath Aster’s left arm. He drapes the limb around his neck, murmuring an apology when Aster flinches. 

Blackwall hands his shield to Sera and takes his place at Aster’s other side. “All right. Up you get.” Aster gathers his legs beneath him. 

“Make yourself useful,” Dorian tells Sera. “Get his staff.”

“Not going to be able to shoot anything carrying all this shite,” she grouses. But she swings Blackwall’s shield onto her back and picks up the staff, only grimacing a little as she touches it. It’s heavier than most mage staves, scaled for use by a qunari, but she hefts it easily in her strong archer’s arms and takes point on the way back. 

In spite of his exhaustion, now that he’s up, Aster manages to keep moving. Blackwall and Dorian help, but they’re both aching and weary, too; not to mention they're shorter than he is, and if he leans too heavily on them he risks falling again. So he steels himself and focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. 

Through the ruins.

Through the fortress, still littered with scattered fires and smelling of brimstone and dragon dung. Blackwall takes Aster’s staff in his free hand so Sera can walk with an arrow nocked in her bow. She’s skittish, eyes darting around to look for threats, but the echoing caverns are deserted. 

Through the eluvian, into the crossroads, and Aster reaches the end of his endurance. Blackwall swears and drops the staff as he tries and fails to keep him from falling. Dorian falls with him, and Aster wrenches himself to the side to keep from landing on him. He hits on his hands and knees - both hands striking the rocky ground - and his vision goes white.

He comes to awareness again curled on his side, huddled around the red-hot brand that used to be his left hand. He can’t see properly, and he can’t figure out why until Dorian swipes gentle fingers beneath his eyes to brush away involuntary tears of pain. His face is strained, and Aster remembers that he fell, too. “Are you all right?” he asks hoarsely.

“I’m fine.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Dorian’s brows knit, and his throat works for a minute before he can answer. “There's nothing you need to apologize for.” His hand is very gentle on Aster’s cheek.

Sera flits into his field of vision. “I see the way out. I’m gonna get someone who can actually haul his arse back where it belongs.” She sprints for the distant eluvian.

Aster braces a shaking hand on the ground - keeping his left hand cradled against his chest - and with help from Dorian and Blackwall, he manages to sit up. Blood trickles from the center of his blackened palm, warm red threads winding around his wrist. Dorian swears under his breath, but says nothing. He moves to sit facing Aster, a little to the side and facing the opposite direction, curls his hand around the back of Aster’s neck to pull him down.

Aster hesitates. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Dorian manages a little smile, voice a low murmur just between the two of them. “I think I know how to hold you by now.”

The air drains wearily from Aster’s chest and he folds forward, looping his arm around Dorian’s waist and leaning down to rest his forehead against his shoulder. Dorian braces himself to take Aster’s weight, kneads the back of his neck with a gentle hand. His robes smell like lyrium-laced sweat and ozone, but they still carry a trace of the familiar spiced citrus scent he usually wears. Aster closes his eyes and breathes him in.

Blackwall, keeping his eyes in the direction Sera had gone, lets a relieved sigh gust from his chest. “That was fast.” Aster lifts his heavy head to see Sera running back, Bull and Krem close behind. 

“Hey, boss. You look like shit.” Bull crouches beside him, slings an arm around his waist, and with one heave lifts him to his feet. “Come on, this place gives me the creeps.”

Blackwall moves to help but Krem shoulders past him to take his place at Aster’s other side. “You’ve got him this far,” he says, tipping him a wink. “I’ll get him the rest of the way.”

“Works for me.” Blackwall bends to retrieve the dropped staff.

Aster leans gratefully on Bull’s solid bulk. Even with help, the distance to the eluvian seems insurmountable. But Dorian comes around in front of him, reaches up to cup his cheek, and does his best to smile. “Come on,” he says gently. “We’re going home.” Aster nods, summons the last of his strength, and follows.


End file.
